Minecraft Username: FortressTheory Are you at least 18 years old?: 27 Have you read the rules? Yes He turned his gaze away from the older woman and down to the burlap sack in his lap, his fingers absently fiddling with the drawstring as he wrestled with his thoughts. "That’s a tough one," he said, his voice low and uncertain. "A fresh start, maybe? No… that doesn’t quite feel right." He paused, the words lingering in the air, before looking up with a tentative smile. "I think I’m here looking for someone," he admitted after a moment. "A Jack girl. I had quite the sweet spot for her. Maybe… maybe it could’ve been something, if I hadn’t let it slip through my fingers." His smile faltered, turning bittersweet as a flicker of fond memories passed through his eyes. Nights spent lying on the rafts his family and hers used to drift through the swamps, staring up at the stars. Days of hunting mud crabs for stolen meals, their laughter echoing between chores, even the idle conversations as they brushed the long bristling hairs of the Bogstriders. "I could’ve stayed home," he said softly, his voice tinged with melancholy. "But what would my life amount to, staying in the shadow of the Wall? I want more than that. I want to carve out something new—and maybe, just maybe, I’ll find her again. And this time… I won’t let her slip away." "Maybe it’s selfish of me," he admitted, his voice dropping slightly. "Wanting to build a better life on the backs of others. The weight of the Great Disappearance still lingers, even though it happened before I was born. What if it happens again?" He shook his head, as if clearing the thought away, and managed to bring his smile back. "Sorry, forget that last part," he said with a sheepish chuckle. "Guess I’ve just stirred up some old ghosts." Character Name: Clément LegerCharacter Race: Human / WalljackCharacter Age: 23Character Description:  At 23, he carried himself with a quiet confidence, though his eyes often betrayed the weight of deeper thoughts. His dirty blonde hair, perpetually tousled by the wind, framed a face that was equal parts rugged and youthful. Sharp green eyes, like moss under dappled sunlight, seemed to watch the world with both curiosity and caution, as if always searching for something just out of reach. His sun-kissed skin bore the faint marks of a life spent outdoors, and his lean build spoke of someone accustomed to hard work rather than luxury. Though his attire was simple and practical—worn boots, a sturdy jacket, and the ever-present burlap sack slung over his shoulder—it was the subtle details that hinted at his character: the careful way he tied the drawstring, the way his fingers lingered on a trinket in his pocket, or the way he glanced at the horizon, as though longing for something beyond what he could see.